Where Wild Things Are
by bigskydreamin
Summary: In an alternate universe where Peter came out of his coma earlier, everything plays out differently. But some things will always be the same.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Once upon a time, a wolf fell in love with a huntress.

It didn't end well.

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep', Robert Frost wrote in an earlier era, before the march of progress and industrialization tamed most of America's wild spaces, burying forest trails beneath concrete highways and clearing ancient oaks to make way for condos and shopping malls. But for all that a town of 30,000 souls rested a scant five miles away, the Preserve felt like a throwback to a more primal age. Shadows were deeper somehow, the intricate weave of branches overhead vaguely more threatening. The whisper of wind through the leaves lent the air a certain intensity, imbuing it with a sense of awareness. Thick with potential, as though watching. Waiting. Hungering.

Maybe it was all just her imagination. Or maybe it was her knowledge that there were monsters in these woods. And Allison, for all her bravado, was still just a seventeen year old girl very much in over her head.

A branch snapped somewhere behind her. Thought gave way to reflex as she spun and dipped into a combat-ready stance, her bow up and arrow nocked and ready to fly. Her father emerged from between two trees, his own crossbow rested casually against his shoulder.

"Careful," was all he said. He didn't seem the least bit bothered by having an arrow aimed right at his chest. And he of all people knew how good her aim was. "If you let your nerves control your body like that you'll end up more of a danger to your hunting party than the things you're hunting."

Always another lecture. Allison bit back the retort that leapt easily to her tongue. Now probably wasn't the best time to engage in pointless teenage rebellion. He was right after all. Not that she had any intention of actually admitting that.

"Sorry. I'm just more rattled than I thought I'd be."

"There's no shame in that," her father said. "Any hunter who's not at least a little afraid to face werewolves in their own home is a dead hunter. The trick is to let your caution help you, not overwhelm you."

"Easier said than done," she pointed out wryly. He chuckled as they ventured further into the woods.

"You'll get the hang of it. This is only your first hunt. And I wouldn't have let you come at all if I didn't think you could handle it."

"I thought you were dead set against me coming, and I'm only here because Mom and Grandpa Gerard overruled you." If there was a certain archness to her tone, Allison felt it was perfectly justified. She hadn't been thrilled at how loudly he'd fought against her coming. He'd trained her himself.

Her father only chuckled again. "Little tip for dealing with hunter hierarchies in the future, kiddo. Fight ferociously against things you're not actually opposed to, and they'll be more inclined to throw you a bone in the battles you choose."

He raised a clenched fist to indicate she should hold her position and advanced ahead, peering cautiously through the darkness. Whatever had grabbed his attention turned out to be no cause for alarm, and she watched the tension visibly drain out of his shoulders.

It still took getting used to, the way her father could switch between mild-mannered parental figure and predatory hunter at the drop of a hat. Allison had only known the truth about her family (and the werewolves they hunted) for a little over a year now. She'd mostly gotten over her hurt and disillusionment at being kept in the dark for so long - she did understand they'd only done it for her protection - but it bothered her how easily her dad could become two totally different people and still look totally the same to her. Which was the real him? How could she ever really be sure what was lurking beneath the surface of any of her family, if she'd been unable to pick up on any of it before they dropped their masks?

"Trust me," he continued. "If I really thought you weren't ready, I'd have thrown you in the car and had us in Mexico before anybody realized what was happening."

Allison nodded and accepted his words for what they were, but failed to recapture the protective warmth a promise like that would have once given her. You'd think after a lifetime of picking up and moving at a moment's notice, change would be something she was used to, but there were times she didn't think she'd ever truly make peace with the changes the last year had brought. Uncomfortably, she changed the subject. They were still on a hunt, and she couldn't afford to be this distracted. Not when she had so much to prove and no idea who she was even proving it to.

"So how many werewolves do you think we're dealing with here anyway?"

Her dad pursed his lips but let the obvious segue slide. "Your grandfather's contact in the coroner's office found claw marks of different sizes in all three of the victims so far. But where there's three werewolves, there could easily be ten more with no way of knowing. These aren't some feral, migrant omegas. This is the work of a pack."

"Like the Hale pack?"

She regretted it even before the flicker of emotion winged across his face, his usual ironclad control unable to keep it in check. Allison just wished she could pin down what that emotion was. Even now, her family still kept too many secrets from her. She knew the fire that had wiped out the Hale pack six years before couldn't have been a simple accident - that much was clear from the way everyone clammed up on the subject the second it appeared she was in ear shot. But if hunters did have something to do with it, if the Hale pack had gone rabid and needed to be put down, why wouldn't anyone just say that?

"Something like that," her father said. "But the better question is why. Why these victims? Why now?"

Allison crinkled her brow. "What do you mean, why? Since when do werewolves need a reason to kill humans?"

"They don't," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean they never have reasons. There's a few suspicious deaths over the course of the past six years that we haven't had time to look into fully, but nothing particularly attention-grabbing. Its possible another pack moved in and seized control in the power vacuum left after the Hale fire. But if they've been living relatively under the radar all this time, why all of a sudden three loud, splashy murders that every hunter west of the Mississippi can't help but hear about?"

"Maybe they have a new alpha?" Allison suggested, not liking the feel of the answer even as she spoke it. It did sound strange after hearing her father phrase it that way. To a hunter, raised and trained in all manner of tracking and catching prey, it seemed eerily reminiscent of bait. But why would a wolf pack want to lure in hunters in the numbers they'd arrived in Beacon Hills with? They couldn't possibly think they could win a confrontation of such magnitude. Unless maybe they'd underestimated how many hunters the murders would bring…

"Maybe," her father offered reluctantly. It was clear that possibility had him as unconvinced as her. A good hunter always trusted their instincts. If something felt off, its because it probably was.

"What does Grandpa Gerard think - " she started to ask, but her father's walkie squawked in mid-query. Panicked shouts and gunfire came through the channel, and distantly she could hear the echo of the shots in some faraway corner of the Preserve.

"Man down," the hunter on the other end - Bannon, she thought maybe - shouted. "We've been ambushed, at least three of the things! We need backup!"

Allison turned to her father in alarm, but he was already in motion, double checking his crossbow and the gun belted to his hip while shouting orders to the dozen or so other hunters spread throughout the Preserve.

"Allison, back to the cars," he snapped. She tried to protest, but he wasn't having any of it. "Now!"

"But…"

"Allison, this wasn't the plan, something has gone wrong and I can't figure out what and get everyone out of here alive if I'm busy worrying about you. I need you to get back to the cars, lock yourself in, and wait for me. Can you do that?"

It was the plea that undid her, the frantic plea and naked desperation in his eyes that he was unable - or unwilling - to hide. Despite all the faces she'd now seen her father adopt at one point or another, this was a new one to her. Fear. For her. Something tightened in her chest and she nodded, steadying her nerves through sheer force of will.

"Okay. I'll go. But Dad, be careful."

He cupped the side of her face in his palm and smiled. "Always, sweetheart. Now go."

Allison went.

The bow that was her pride and joy was a weight dragging her down in her flight through the woods. It tangled in shrubs and low branches as she crashed through the undergrowth, prioritizing speed over grace. The staccato pops of gunfire reverberated in the distance, punctuated by howls and bestial roars that came from no natural creatures. A branch dragged along her face, sketching a small ribbon of blood down one cheek when she raced by it. She hiccuped and swallowed a sob but didn't slow her steps. Another roar echoed through the trees. Far closer than the previous ones.

Her father had been wrong. She wasn't ready for this. She'd never be ready and she was a fool to think otherwise. This wasn't normal, this wasn't supposed to be what her life was like, and all of a sudden she'd give anything to go back to the way things were a year before, even with the lies and deceit.

Her foot caught a tree root.

She tripped.

Fell.

Rolled down a slight embankment and came to a stop along the ridge of a cliff overlooking the canyons carved deep in the Preserve.

Allison shuddered and lay still against the cold, rocky ground beneath her. Everything ached, her whole body stinging from a thousand tiny scrapes and bruises. Mustering the strength to raise even just her head, let alone her entire torso seemed a Herculean feat.

That was when she heard the growl.

It came from somewhere above her, a low, ominous rumble that sank into her bones and chilled her to her core. Slowly, she lifted her gaze up the embankment she'd just rolled down, laying it to rest on the monster crouched at the top.

He was younger than she'd expected. The deformed visage of the werewolf's transformed face made it hard to pick out details, but at a guess, she'd say he was no older than she was. He had curly blond hair not thick enough to hide the tips of his swept back ears, but it was his eyes that held her. Like twin golden lanterns, searchlights even, piercing through the dark of the late hour and pinning her to the ground where she lay.

She hadn't been prepared for teenage monsters.

But then, she hadn't prepared to die either.

Allison carefully reached back along her side, her fingers questing for the knife strapped to her outer thigh. She didn't dare look backwards to locate it, all her concentration going into seeming as helpless and innocent as she could. _Look_ , her mind screamed at the creature. _Nothing but prey here_.

The werewolf rose from his crouch, looming large, monstrous, megalithic above her. He made as if to make his way slowly down the embankment, his eyes drifting down to watch the placement of his feet. And that was when she struck.

Her hand closed around the handle of her knife, yanking it from its sheath and whipping it forward in one smooth motion, even as her other arm pushed against the rocky ground, propping her up to gain her leverage. The knife cleaved cleanly through the air separating them, whistling as it flew and struck home in the werewolf's right shoulder.

He let out a startled howl of pain and fell back against a tree trunk. His eyes snapped back to hers, and for a moment the golden glow in them dimmed, becoming more human, but she was already on autopilot, muscle memory taking over where her panicked thoughts left off. _Never let an opportunity go wasted_ , her father's voice echoed in her head. _Never assume your opponent is down until you're well outside the ring_. Her bow came up, an arrow slid out of her quiver almost as if of its own accord, and she let it fly. The shaft buried itself into the werewolf's arm, pinning him against the tree.

The second werewolf came out of nowhere and crashed into her, knocking the breath straight out of her lungs. Her bow skidded across the dirt and gravel; she scrambled frantically after it the second she caught her breath. Even as she did she knew it wasn't quick enough, the monster had to be right behind her, claws ready to rake her in two.

The killing blow never came though, and she rolled onto her back as best her quiver would allow her. The second werewolf was atop the embankment beside the first, busy prying her arrow out of his arm and she thanked god for small favors. Her mind compartmentalized, taking in small details as she crabwalked back along the ridge, fingers still scurrying through the dirt in search of her bow.

This werewolf was slightly smaller than the first, but no older, skin a shade darker than the other's where shafts of moonlight stabbed at him through the treetops. Dark hair, a double-banded tattoo around one bare arm, a slight crook to his jawline when he turned to regard her. Same gold-lit eyes as the first, but there was something different about them, something slightly less feral about the way they bored into hers. She stretched her hand further behind her, her bow had to be here somewhere….the werewolf's eyes widened, he made as though to leap off the embankment at her…

And her hand found nothing but empty air. Overbalanced, she tipped over the side of the ridge, desperately seeking a handhold where none existed. A scream buried itself in her throat, unable to fight its way free as all the breath fled her lungs. She fell, plunging from the cliff, but only three feet into her fall she found it arrested, an iron grip around her right wrist as she dangled helplessly in mid air.

The werewolf lay flat against the ridge above her, holding her easily with one arm. Shocked, wanting to scream, needing to scream but unable to do anything but stare at the claws encircling her wrist without so much as scratching the skin, she offered no resistance as he hauled her up and back on solid ground.

Allison dropped limply into the dirt where he deposited her, heart thudding painfully in her chest in a terrified rhythm made all the worse by her awareness he had to be able to hear it, had to know exactly how brave she wasn't. But the boy didn't react in any of the ways a predator should when presented with helpless prey, and all she could do was stare after him when he backed slowly away from her back towards his companion. She had to call him a boy now, monster or even werewolf no longer seemed to fit with his face transformed back into its natural state. A normal Latino teenager no older than she stared back at her, his eyes a calm brown that never left her face even as she searched his for answers. Found none.

"Why?" She asked at last. She hated how weak and needy it made her sound, none of her usual confidence to be found in it, but tremulous or not, it needed to be asked. She needed to know. Needed to understand. Why would a werewolf save her? Didn't he know what she was? Of course he knew, he'd just pulled her arrow out of his friend.

She was slightly gratified that the first werewolf at least looked as confused as she felt, but it seemed the other had no answers for either of them. He nodded at the larger werewolf, eyes still locked on Allison, and without a word, they both melted back into the shadows.

Leaving her alone. Unharmed. And for some reason, that terrified her more than the sight of their claws had.

She couldn't say how long it took her to compose herself and make her way back to the cars, but she'd barely been there five minutes when the other hunters started trickling in. Some had to lean on others for support, a number sported nasty gashes that made her wince to look at, especially after her own close look at a werewolf's claws, and her heart didn't settle until her father finally arrived at the rear. She ran to him, heedless of the eyes of over a dozen professional killers on her. Let them judge her weak. She was past caring tonight.

Her father caught her in a hug and pressed her tight against his chest, the steady beat of his heart leaking through his chest to calm her own. He stroked her hair gently, like he used to when she was little.

"Allison? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled into his chest. If she didn't look at him, he couldn't see the lie. Right? He chuckled and she could hear the smile in his voice as he said:

"Well then how about we get you home. I think you've had enough excitement for one night, and you start your new school tomorrow."

Allison nodded numbly and let him guide her back to the car. She'd forgotten all about having to start a new school with all her focus on the hunt, and as much as she'd normally bitch and complain about the necessity of spending eight hours a day learning what they could easily teach her in four if only they'd consent to home school her….now all she could think about was the youth of the werewolf who'd…what…saved her? She still couldn't wrap her head around the concept.

But Beacon Hills was a small town, and though she'd never stopped to consider it before, she supposed a teenage werewolf was as likely to be found at school as a human teenager.

Would she see him at school?

Would she learn his name?

And if she did, would she tell her father?

Her sleep was restless that night. She dreamed it was winter, and she sat in a forest clearing, frozen over. The boy sat across from her, his eyes a burning gold and her hands resting in his claws. The snow around them was stained red with blood.

She just didn't know whose.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

There's a story where true love once turned a monster back into a man.  
This is not that story.

Scott parked his motorcycle and braced for battle. Cora lurked atop the steps outside Beacon Hills High with her trademark scowl bearing down on him, as foreboding and unforgiving as any Parisian gargoyle. Malia was perched on the rail beside her cousin, studying her nails with an artificial apathy that fooled no one who actually knew her, and Brett hovered uncertainly behind them. Poor kid looked like he'd rather be anywhere than here, not that Scott could blame him. Front row seats to a 'disagreement' between Peter's first beta and his niece had to wreck absolute havoc on the younger werewolf's perception of pack hierarchy.

The chill October breeze nipped at his ears and carried snatches of conversation from the myriad human students bustling through the doors. Scott ignored them with the ease of long practice. The last thing he needed to hear right now was the school rumor mill's latest theory on what crimes he and the rest of his 'gang' were involved in. It was just too damn depressing how vastly they underestimated what they were actually guilty of, he thought sourly. At least they gave he and his packmates a wide berth, like an invisible aisle clearing the way as he trudged up the steps to inevitable conflict.

"Where did you go last night?" Cora demanded as soon as he was close enough to feel the Arctic chill emanating out from her in waves. Scott shrugged.

"Home."

If Cora's scowl had been etched in granite before, it was blackest obsidian now. Behind her, Malia's lips twitched in the barest approximation of a smirk before she caught herself. She might be Peter's daughter, but the werecoyote had always held a soft spot for blatant insubordination. In another world, Scott had often thought, the two of them might even have been friends.

"You were supposed to meet up with the rest of the pack back at the loft," Cora said. The sound of teeth grinding against one another rang out clearly to werewolf ears. Thank god for superhuman healing, or the girl would have one hell of a dental bill by now.

"My mom was freaking out on me because I wasn't at home in my room when I was supposed to be grounded. I didn't want her calling the Sheriff on me again," he lied effortlessly, his heartbeat as steady as ever. "Sorry, I would have texted but my phone was dead."

"If your phone was dead, how exactly was your mom freaking out on you?"

"Oh. I got her texts, and then my phone died." Scott flashed his brightest smile at her, the one he knew was guaranteed to piss her off. He tried to get along with his packmates for the most part, he really did. Its not like most of them had any more control over any of this than he did. But Cora seemed to get more and more like her uncle every day. Not for the first time, Scott wondered what she would be like if Derek were still alive to counterbalance Peter's influence. But then, maybe a lot of things would be different if Derek were still alive. It was pointless to indulge in hypotheticals.

His smile landed home like a punch, and Cora visibly recoiled before gathering herself for a fresh assault. Brett took a cautious step back.

"That wasn't your decision to make," she snapped. "If you needed to deviate from the plan, you ask your Alpha for permission first. Its called a chain of command, McCall."

Scott narrowed his eyes and felt his skin bristling at yet another Hale trying to lord their power over him, but he kept his smile frozen in place.

"There wasn't time, and I couldn't risk making my mom any angrier," he said with forced calm. "Lately, she's been threatening to call my dad to come back to Beacon Hills and help 'deal with me', and I figured now isn't the best time for an FBI agent to be poking around, investigating his son's delinquent behavior. You know? I was only trying to do what's best for the pack."

Malia's hand drifted up to cover her grin, and her silent support was just barely enough to mitigate the unpleasant taste Scott had in his mouth every time he was forced to use his dad's job to stay ahead of Peter's machinations. Just one more compromise in a string too long to keep track of, but at this point, Scott counted every day Peter didn't rip out his throat a victory, so what the hell, right?

"How much longer do you think you can keep up this attitude before it gets you in more trouble than you can handle, McCall?"

Scott clamped down on his heartbeat and forced it back into its usual even rhythm as she stepped closer to him.

"No idea. But that's not for you to decide. You're not my alpha."

"Maybe I need to teach you some respect anyway."

"You're welcome to try," he said casually, letting his lip curl up in an insolent smirk he'd copied from Isaac. Her eyes widened appropriately.

"Are you challenging me? My uncle lets you get away with way more than he should, but do you really think he'd let you get away with that?"

"Maybe." Scott shrugged and let the apex predator Peter unleashed in him so long ago rise up inside and bare teeth. "We both know how much he loves when I get violent."

Cora stared at him, the stench of her repressed anger fouling the air around them. Brett's face scrunched up in distaste. Finally she offered a single nod to him, so sharp and furious it was practically a gunshot.

"I'll pass along your excuses to my uncle. He's going to want to hear them in person tonight though. Everyone is to be at the loft as soon as school lets out. Are you going to be able to make it, or does he need to talk to your mother for you?"

Every ounce of fury and resentment tangled through Scott's being tried to lunge at her then, and as the barest flicker of fear flashed across her face he wondered if she had any idea how close he was to tearing out her throat with his teeth. Malia definitely had an idea from the way she jumped to interpose her body between them, and Brett looked like he was seconds from wetting himself.

"Scott will be there," the werecoyote said with firm finality. Her eyes cut across to his, demanding compliance and Scott settled from the balls of his feet back onto his heels, careful not to show any submission in the process. He wasn't stupid enough to press his luck any further right now. But that didn't mean he was going to tuck his tail between his legs either.

"I think we all need to get to class," Malia continued, a subtle jerk of her head indicating the surrounding students whose usual caution around the pack had given way to curiosity, circling like vultures. "Everyone good here?"

"Couldn't be better," Scott said easily. Cora just pressed another hard stare into him before spinning on her heel and shoving her way through the gathering crowd. Brett's head darted back and forth like a pinball between the departing Hale, Malia and Scott. The beta obviously had no idea who to ask for permission to be anywhere else. Malia took pity on him and directed a pointed look at the younger boy.

"Don't you have something you're supposed to be doing right now?"

His head bobbed manically up and down like a puppet with a bad meth habit, and he practically fled across the quad to where a group of freshmen were congregating. Scott frowned, having the feeling he was missing something there, but if Malia wasn't going to volunteer what that was all about, he wasn't going to ask her. Best to parcel out any favors he could wring out of her. He never knew when he might need another one.

With a final deliberate look, Malia melted into the sea of curious faces, leaving Scott alone on the steps staring after her and her cousin. He and Cora had never gotten along - he thought she was too bloodthirsty, she thought he was too soft. Both were well aware of how carefully Peter pitted them against each other to keep one or the other from gaining too much influence over the rest of the pack. Couldn't risk anyone gaining enough of a power base to pose a threat to him, of course. There was a reason the coward has chosen children he could blackmail and bully for his pack instead of full grown adults.

As for Malia, a coyote among wolves, for all that she was his daughter she would always be too much of an outsider for the others to follow her lead. Sides, she was happiest when left alone anyway.

No, Cora and he knew exactly where they stood and there was no love lost between them, but she'd never gone so far as to use a threat to his mother in their little power struggles before. That was a purely Peter move; Cora's usual style was far more direct. Scott wanted to pretend she didn't mean it, that the hunters in town just had her on edge and lashing out. No one had more cause than her to hate them. But the deeper truth was that day by day she was becoming Peter's heir in more than just name, and he didn't have the faintest fucking clue what to do about it.

He was barely managing to toe the line as it was with just one of Peter. He had no illusions of being able to survive two of them.

Scott turned to make his way to Chemistry in anticipation of the morning bell when the scent hit him. Carefully, without showing any sudden interest, he scanned the crowd that was even now breaking up into scattered bits and pieces. She was there at the outermost edges, books clutched across her chest and her attention directly on him.

The huntress from last night. The one who shot Isaac. The one he'd saved.

Their eyes met across a distance of a mere twenty feet. Still far enough away that as quickly as he'd seen her draw and throw a knife last night, she could probably do the same before he could reach her. If that was her intent. The wind had shifted after carrying that first initial scent to him. He couldn't pick up anything else. With all the other bodies weaving between and around them - talking and shouting and hearts beating in a symphony of discordant rhythms - there was no chance of honing in specifically on hers.

So Scott just watched her watch him, and waited. Time halted, stretched, paused eternally. Was broken at last only by the shrill, startling scream of the bell. He winced at the stab to his ear drums, ducked his head for the merest fraction of a second, and by the time he looked up she was already just another backpack vanishing into a sea of mass-produced assembly line sameness.

He suppressed what might be called a surge of admiration. She was good at least. He could give her that much.

Isaac caught up to him in the halls after fourth period. Scott was at his locker switching out Spanish texts for English Lit when the other beta careened into the row of metal beside him. A sophomore trying to get into his own locker squawked indignantly at the six foot two obstacle, but Isaac literally snarled at him until he chose discretion over valor and backed away. Scott rolled his eyes but refrained from calling his friend on it out of respect for the panic wafting off him like a cheap cologne.

"She's here," the other boy whispered frantically. His eyes darted up and down the crowded hallway but whether he was keeping watch for her or for the rest of their pack was unclear. Scott played dumb, just to see what it would get him.

"Who?"

Isaac's attention flashed back to him with a glare of disbelief. "What do you mean, who? The huntress. You know, the one who fucking shot me? The one whose life you saved?"

When his voice dropped down into a range only a werewolf standing right next to them could hear, Scott allowed himself to relax incrementally. Isaac hadn't told any of the others what he'd done yet. He hadn't been sure - not that he wanted to assume the worst of his friend, but naively assuming the best was a trait Peter had beaten out of him long ago.

"Calm down," he said, keeping his focus on his locker as though whatever they were discussing was of no importance. "She saw me already before the start of school. She's not going to do anything here."

"Yeah, and what about fucking after school? She knows what we look like Scott. She's going to climb into her hunter car, go back to her hunter house, and tell her hunter family that oh hey, two of her classmates like to howl at the moon, should she kill them before first period or after?"

"I'm not sure she is," Scott mused. She had a good poker face, no doubt about that, but as impassive as she'd seemed on the surface, well….he had a hunch.

Of course, he'd literally just been reflecting on how fatal it could be too assume the best of people, but whatever. It wasn't like he entertained any delusions of surviving until graduation anyway.

"Look, I just need you to trust me on this. Give me today to feel her out. She's an Argent, sure, but can you imagine her parents actually letting her spend eight hours alone without backup if they had even the slightest suspicion there'd be teenage werewolves at her school? She didn't tell anyone about us. I'd bet anything. I just want to find out why."

"You're betting our lives," Isaac hissed, but his scent was slightly less pungent now with less of a sense of urgency. "How the fuck do you know she doesn't have backup? There could be another one here we don't know about."

"I don't for sure," Scott admitted. "But everyone's talking about the new transfer student. Singular. If there's another hunter at our school, they were already here before she arrived. There's never been any sign of that."

Isaac scowled and shook his head irritably, indecision writ clear across his face. "Why did you have to save her in the first place? If you'd just let her fall, we wouldn't even be in this mess. Its not like it would have been our fault anyway."

"If I could have saved her and didn't, it would have been my fault," Scott said firmly. "I don't care what the color of my eyes say. I'm not killing some girl our age just because our Alpha's a power mad revenge freak. He may have made me a werewolf, but he doesn't get to make me a monster."

Isaac snorted. There was something like pity in his eyes, but Scott had long since made his peace with having different priorities than even his closest packmates. He was who he was and there was only so far he was willing to let the bite change that.

"I don't want to be a monster anymore than you do, Scott. But I'm not signing up to be a martyr either. She comes at me again, I don't care how old she is, I'm not giving her a chance to try a third time."

"That's fair. I'm just asking you to wait for her to make a move first. We'll stay on our guard, and watch. If there's a chance that she's got as little choice about being caught up in this damn war as we do, don't you think that's worth finding out?"

"You're assuming a lot here."

"I am," Scott acknowledged.

"It's my life on the line here too."

"I know."

"I have to at least tell the others that she's the one who shot me last night. They all saw the wounds, if it gets back that I didn't warn them that she's not just an Argent, but an actual hunter too - I'm fucked."

"I'm not expecting you to hide that," Scott said. He couldn't help but feel guilty for the internal struggle going on in his friend's mind. Isaac was the first person Peter turned after Scott. They knew what Peter was capable of better than the whole rest of the pack combined, and when it came to punishing betrayal, he could be particularly inventive. But for all that he understood and sympathized with the position he was putting Isaac in, he still had to ask anyway.

"Are you going to tell the others what I did?"

His friend sighed and punched a locker hard enough to leave a dent. He backed into the river of students swimming upstream to fifth period, hands shoved in his pockets and head back and studying the ceiling as though it held the solution to his moral dilemma. At last he shrugged, shot Scott a smirk beneath quirked eyebrows, and said:

"Haven't decided yet."

Scott let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding as the other werewolf disappeared down the hall. In Isaac speak, that meant Scott's secret was safe. He wasn't sure why the other boy could never seem to manage a display of camaraderie without being a total dick about it in the process, but Scott rolled his eyes and smiled anyway. In a world of small favors, he'd take what he could get.

But it seemed the universe could only tolerate his good mood for so long, because arriving late to his next class, Scott found only one open seat remaining. The hunter girl - the Argent - looked about as pleased about it as he felt when she looked up to see him hovering in the doorway. Then she gave her hair a simple, careless flip that Scott somehow knew exactly how to interpret.

He clenched his jaw.

Challenge accepted.

The wall of noxious perfume hit him direct in the face as he settled into the seat next to her, and he couldn't hold back the graceless choke slash wheeze slash cough that escaped his throat at the assault on his nose. She must have doused herself with it after realizing he'd recognized her scent that morning. Now he couldn't pick out anything beneath the vile concoction, and the odor was foul enough that he was disinclined to even try. He chanced a glance across the aisle at her. She looked unbearably smug.

The class proceeded without incident for a good half hour, then the teacher passed out some forms for them all to fill out. The huntress foraged unsuccessfully within her bag for a pen. After watching her increasingly frustrated search for about a minute, he finally held his own out to her. He couldn't say what he hoped to gain from it, but whatever. It was just a fucking pen.

She eyed it like a stick of dynamite.

Then again, maybe it was his hand she was staring at, picturing his claws extended from his fingers.

"What?" She whispered finally. Scott shrugged.

"It looked like you needed a pen."

Her hand emerged from her backpack, clutching a blue ballpoint in victory.

"I've got one, thanks."

"Sorry. Just wanted to help."

She raised an eyebrow at that. Her face was otherwise still, but her eyes were full of movement, darting around, analyzing everything about him, never still. She didn't know how to hide things from her eyes, he realized. However well she'd mastered keeping thoughts and emotions from reaching the rest of her face, her eyes were too expressive. They'd always give her away.

"And they say chivalry is dead," she said at last. One corner of her mouth tugged infinitesimally upwards, but despite the flirtatious lilt to her voice, her eyes told him she remained deadly serious. Still, Scott couldn't help but smile in response.

"They say a lot of things you shouldn't believe."

Her eyes widened the barest fraction of an inch, flicked up and down him, left and right as though searching for some tell, some giveaway that would reveal…what, exactly? What was she looking for from him? Her scent remained frustratingly opaque, but her heart quivered slightly faster than normal. Not the frantic jackhammer of prey, not fear or terror despite being so close to a mortal enemy, more…like excitement? Emotions slightly enhanced, adrenaline poised and ready to burst through her veins at a moment's notice, but for now still contained.

"I'll try and remember that," she promised, tilting her head for a single final look as though a different angle might glean her more perspective.

His own pulse was a thunderstorm in his ears.

The pack was already gathered around their usual table at the rear of the cafeteria by the time Scott made it to lunch. Cora presided at the head nearest the wall, as always, flanked on either side by Aiden and Ethan. Malia sat comfortably in the middle with Erica lounging against Boyd on one side of her, trying (unsuccessfully) to mimic Malia's studied indifference to her surroundings. Boyd's indifference, of course, was wholly authentic.

Brett sat across from Malia, the pack's youngest beta in the midst of a gap that Scott wished he could do something about. But as much as he would like to extend more of a helping hand to the odd one out, doing so would inevitably draw Cora's ire his way. He heaved a silent sigh. She couldn't see past her own pain long enough to console a boy who'd lost his entire family the same way she'd lost hers, but she'd be quick enough to see him as an enemy if Scott dared try and draw him to his side. It was best to let things stand as they were. For now, at least.

At the far end of the table across from Cora, Isaac and Theo slid apart to make room between them, his usual seat. Conversation had paused to allow him time to take his place, and now the silence waited for Cora to fill it. She showed no outward resentment for their earlier argument, but the air between them practically crackled with a tension visible to the entire pack.

"Have you seen her?" Cora asked. Playing dumb would get Scott nowhere this time, so he skipped that and went for carefree nonchalance.

"I had English with her last period."

Cora nodded, waiting for more from him, but he wasn't going to make it easy for her. If she wanted to play these stupid fucking games, then fine. She could work for it.

"She's not just an Argent. Full-fledged hunter, that one. She put an arrow in Isaac last night. Not sure if you knew about that, since you didn't come back to the loft with the rest of us."

"I heard," Scott said.

"Oh, I'm fine by the way," Isaac offered up to no one in particular. "Just in case anyone cares."

That got a few coughs and muffled laughs from Ethan, Brett and Erica, all quick to hide them in the wake of Cora's murderous glare. Isaac had picked a side a long time ago though, and whatever he might say privately to Scott, at least he knew where the other stood here.

"Heads up," Boyd said, effectively cutting the tension through the sheer novelty of him speaking voluntarily. They all turned to see the hunter girl enter the cafeteria. Allison, Scott reminded himself. Her name was Allison Argent. He couldn't afford to fall prey to Peter's rhetoric, conditioning them all to see nameless faceless entities where hunters were concerned. It irritated Scott to realize he'd already been doing that most of the day.

"She seems to be making herself right at home," Erica observed dryly. There was the barest hint of resentment buried beneath her tone if you knew to look for it. Not hard to figure out why, given that Allison was surrounded by their class's A-list, comfortably chatting as though she, Lydia, Jackson, Danny and Stiles were old friends.

Scott's eyes lingered on Stiles a touch longer than they should have, if the gleam in Cora's eye was anything to go by. For all that he was the one who'd pushed Stiles away to keep him safe from Peter, it was still like a knife in his chest to see how happily he'd moved on, integrated into Lydia and Danny's cadre more comfortably than anyone ever would have guessed after they chose to take him under their wings. No point in regretting old choices though. He couldn't afford to live anywhere but in the now, and reluctantly Scott dragged his attention back to the present.

"Should we all be sitting together?" Brett asked nervously. "If she recognizes Isaac, won't she be able to figure out who else is in the pack with us all sitting here together like this?"

"Its Beacon Hills." Theo flicked a disdainful tater tot at the younger boy. "I guarantee you it took that girl five minutes to get the names of everyone Isaac's known to hang out with. Which, you know, is limited to us."

"Thanks Isaac, your shitty friendship skills are going to get us killed," Aiden said. Isaac replied with his middle finger.

"Quiet," Malia snapped. They all shut up and followed her gaze to where Allison and her new friends had sat down. And who were now looking back at them.

Scott focused his hearing, trying to separate their conversation from the background noise of every other person talking in the crowded cafeteria. The rest of the pack stayed silent as they all did the same.

"So what's the deal with them?" Allison asked distantly. It wasn't hard to figure out who she was talking about. Jackson snorted.

"You mean Freak Nation over there?"

Low mutters arose from the pack, and Cora silenced them with a hiss. Across the cafeteria, Allison Argent arched an eyebrow.

"Is that an official title or something?"

"Not exactly," Lydia drawled. "They're just….a little different is all."

"They're a tight knit group who don't seem to feel the need to associate with anyone else, and our classmates consider that a mortal insult," Danny said matter of factly.

Lydia glared at him, but his chill remained un-phased.

"Well, it is high school. Its unnatural."

"Why do you care anyway?" Jackson asked.

"No reason," Allison said, studying her plate and poking at her food. "The dark-haired guy at the end of the table is in my English class. I was just curious I guess."

The eyes of his pack turned as one to Scott, who really could have done without all the attention just at the moment. He coughed on a bite of burger and grabbed for his water.

"Who, Scott McCall?" Lydia asked, tilting her head to look across the room at Scott. He dropped his eyes and stared hard at the table top. "Why, do you already have a crush on one of our resident bad boys?"

Oh god, was he really considered one of the school's bad boys? He supposed that made sense to outside perceptions, but he was really regretting not paying more attention to the high school rumor mill now. This was information he probably should have had.

"No," Allison protested faintly from across the room. "He seemed nice is all."

"He's an asshole," Stiles said. Scott's head snapped back up to see his former best friend scowling furiously at his plate. "Don't be fooled by the Dark Side over there. They're all just a bunch of creeps."

Scott's jaw clenched so tight, he felt it was about to snap in two. Isaac bumped his hip in solidarity beneath the table. At least one person understood why he'd done what he did. It didn't feel like that was enough, though.

"Stiles and Scott used to be friends. They had a….falling out, I guess you could say," Danny interjected delicately. Jackson laughed.

"McCall ripped Stilinski a new one right in the middle of school back at the start of ninth grade. Like, we're talking ten years of childhood secrets dumped in the middle of the cafeteria. It was so bad, even I felt sorry for the guy. Well, at the time I mean. Now its just funny."

"Jackson!" Lydia hissed. Her face was scarlet with either anger or embarrassment - on Stiles' behalf maybe? Danny looked like he was trying to decide whether to hit Jackson or pat Stiles on the back, and Allison just looked sorry she'd asked.

"Fuck you, Whittemore," was all Stiles said. He grabbed his tray and his backpack and stalked out of the cafeteria.

"That," Aiden declared in the silence that followed, "was fucking hysterical."

Ethan shook his head and kicked his twin under the table.

"Ow!"

Scott missed whatever followed, all his senses honed in on the feeling of his claws extending inside his clenched fists, slicing his palms to shreds. Blood dripped down to the floor, and if the panicked grips Theo and Isaac placed on each one of his thighs beneath the table were anything to go by, he wasn't being subtle.

He had to be brutal, he told himself for the millionth time since that day. Stiles was too loyal, too stubborn. It was the only way to get him to stop looking into why Scott was suddenly acting so weird. Anything less than total public humiliation, and he would have forgiven Scott eventually. And then he would have started digging again. Maybe even gotten his dad involved. And if they'd popped up on Peter's radar again, he knew Peter would do something…permanent.

Peter occasionally gave out second chances. When he knew it would serve to get his hooks further in someone, get him closer to his goals.

But he never gave out third ones.

A sharp elbow to his side jerked his head back up in time to see Cora lazily smirking at him from across the length of the table. What had he missed? Dammit, he could not afford to be so careless anymore. Things were getting too complicated too quickly. Missteps now were going to get him and a lot of other people killed.

"So," Cora drawled with predatory grace. "Our little huntress might have a bit of a crush on our Scotty. We might be able to use that."

Scott approximated just the right touch of condescension to hopefully derail that train.

"She was just fishing for information on us, Cora."

"Maybe." She agreed too easily. "But why'd she single you out for her little fishing expedition then?"

"No idea," he said. "I don't pretend to know how hunters' minds work."

"Hmm. Still, its probably something we should bring to my uncle's attention. You never know what he'll find useful."

Oh he knew alright.

"Whatever you think is best for the pack," Scott managed to grit out.

"Of course."

He needed to end this now. He could sense Theo and Isaac's turmoil beside him and knew they were moments from saying something that could ignite a firestorm Scott wasn't prepared for. Not yet.

"Are we done here?"

Cora took a deliberate pause to make sure it appeared a request and she was considering it. "For now."

Scott carefully rubbed his palms against the seat, wiping off as much of his blood as he could before standing. Theo and Isaac stood a moment later, and before anyone thought to pay attention to him and put a stop to it, Brett stood as well. Uncertain, nervous as hell, but with clear and definite purpose.

All eyes turned to the kid in a unified disbelief that took even Malia a few stunned seconds to mask, and Scott felt like weeping.

 _You stupid fucking kid_ , he raged in the safety of his own head. _You choose now to pick a side? Of all possible fucking moments, you thought now…_

Across the table, Cora's eyes narrowed into slits. Her voice was poison-laced and as sharp-edged as the Sword of Damocles Scott could see hovering over his head every second of every day now.

"Don't forget my uncle wants everyone at the loft tonight, Scott."

"Of course," Scott said breezily, through a smile so brittle it threatened to shatter into a million pieces any moment. "Can't wait."

His pace carefully moderate, neither too fast nor too slow, Scott walked out of the cafeteria, Theo and Isaac at his side and Brett a few steps behind.

Just one more weight on his back, ready to bury him the moment he lost his footing.

 _The bite is a gift_ , Derek's ghost whispered in his head.

 _Fuck you, Derek._

Notes:

Since I'm writing this before we actually know what's going on with Theo, for the purposes of this fic he's just a kid who used to live in Beacon Hills and was turned by the same alpha who turned Aiden and Ethan. I needed another beta in the pack for plot reasons. How he and the twins came to be part of Peter's pack will all be revealed. Because this is an AU where Peter's had his claws into most of the characters for at least a couple of years, everyone's a bit...harder, than in canon, but hopefully the characterizations are still ringing true.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** These are traumatized teenage werewolves living under the thumb of a psychotic, murder-happy Alpha. They kinda swear a lot.

 **CHAPTER THREE**

It began the way all fairy tales do. Innocence was lost in the woods. A monster was there waiting to steal it.

Things just went downhill from there.

The first thing to learn as a teenage werewolf was that no matter how bad things were, they could always get worse. Buddhism would beg to differ, dozens of other philosophies from the many millennia of mankind's existence all insisted that there was some kind of balance or universal medium to which things would always reset themselves -

No. That was crap.

If you were a werewolf in Beacon Hills, no matter how shit your day was by the time school let out, the night held countless opportunities for shit to one up itself. So Scott was completely unsurprised when he arrived at the pack's loft and his sixth sense for impending doom began wailing like a banshee.

It was kinda like Spiderman's Spidey-sense, only completely useless for anything other than letting Scott know Peter was about to fuck him over and there was nothing he could do about it. Basically, it was completely useless.

Dwelling on the futility of his general existence had never really done anything for him other than depress the shit out of him, so in a swell, spectacular mood and wearing a confident smile that was in no way fake as fuck, Scott entered the loft through a doorway he'd personally always felt should have been labeled 'Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.'

Theo cut off any greeting he might have offered with a cautious nod towards the upper level of the loft; Peter's personal domain. He tapped one finger against the side of his nose and Scott took a careful sniff. There was an unfamiliar scent in the loft, coming from upstairs. That…was mildly terrifying, in the way that anything new or unexpected in Beacon Hills was terrifying, because they usually led to him getting shot, and Scott was SO not a fan of getting shot. Superhuman healing or not.

Scott quirked his head inquiringly at the other beta, but Theo shrugged. Other than a general awareness of the strange scent, he had nada, apparently. Awesome. With a repressed sigh, Scott turned to the only other wolves waiting in the loft: Cora and the twins. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or more worried when Cora's scowl and slight shake of the head made it clear she was as in the dark as the rest of them. She didn't like when Peter left her out of the loop. It made it that much harder for her to lord her connection with him over the rest of the pack.

And Peter only left her out of the loop when he had some new game to play with them. Scott sat on the couch next to Theo and settled in for a long night. He was probably going to flunk his Bio exam tomorrow too. Man…

The rest of the pack trickled in over the course of the next half hour. Boyd and Erica arrived as a pair, eyes widening slightly when they picked up on the scent, but then Boyd planted himself in the armchair, Erica planted herself in his lap, and they proceeded to kiss their worries away. Scott was mildly tempted to tell them Erica's attempts to appear unaffected by pack politics were hella transparent, but their impromptu makeout session did have Ethan looking nauseated while Cora looked ready to pop a vein, so…there was that. It was the little things in life that got him through the day.

Malia was next, as thrown by the strange scent as any of them, and Scott's gut churned anxious bile. For Peter to tell neither Cora or Malia what he was planning - there were very few reasons Scott could think of for why Peter would ever have a stranger at the loft while his pack was present, let alone when hunters were in town. He was so preoccupied examining the various possibilities, it took a few seconds to react to the spike of anxiety that heralded Brett's arrival. The young beta's painfully false bravado wasn't holding up well under the intensity of Cora's glare. Brett's eyes darted towards the couch, clearly seeking rescue. Scott weighed his options. He'd been totally unprepared for the other wolf to throw his lot in with him earlier that day, but as much as he was touched by the intent behind it, it complicated things considerably.

An uneasy status quo had existed within the pack in the year since Derek's death. Scott had Theo and Isaac behind him, with the twins backing Cora. Malia, Boyd, Erica and Brett existed in some ephemeral No Man's Land in between the two likeliest challengers for Peter's crown - a delicate balance that nevertheless seemed to leave their alpha content. As long as neither Scott nor Cora had a clear edge on the other, Peter could comfortably reign uncontested.

Brett's initiative was a move none of them had seen coming, and it changed everything. Scott was pretty sure the kid had no clue what he'd set in motion when he'd stood up earlier that day, but now the damage was done. If Peter started to worry that Scott was gaining an advantage over his rival, he'd take moves to protect himself. That wouldn't bode well for Scott or anyone who seemed to favor him over their dangerous and paranoid Alpha.

The question was whether there might still be some way to keep Brett's new allegiances from Peter, at least for a little longer. Buy enough time for Scott to adjust his plans. Normally, there'd be no chance of that. Cora would be certain to clue her uncle in even if no one else did. But the new scent changed things. Scott had a sinking suspicion there was only one explanation for it, and Cora had no doubt drawn the same conclusions as him. If it was what he thought it was, there was a chance it might leave Cora distracted enough for Scott to garner a couple day's reprieve before Peter learned of Brett's support for him.

Thoughts and possibilities winged their way through his head in the space of moments. Scott took in the room at a glance. Malia was sprawled on a chair opposite the couch, flipping through a magazine while openly watching him from above its pages. Erica's lips were busy on the other side of Boyd's neck, so there was no way to tell how close of attention she was paying, but Boyd's eyes were heavy on Scott, clearly attentive. Cora and Aiden were watching Scott now from their corner of the room as well, but Ethan was still considering Brett, his face an inscrutable mask.

Theo was pretending to be asleep. Useless fucker.

In the end Scott gambled, nodding towards the young beta while patting the couch beside him. Brett practically flew across the room in relief his scent couldn't help but reflect, and every nose in the room twitched. It would be a mistake to assume that just because Cora readily supplied her uncle with information that he needed her to. Peter was good at sniffing out your secrets all on his own. Best to get in front of it, accept Brett's allegiances clearly, and keep Peter's focus on Scott instead of the younger boy.

'Popularity' was definitely not all it was cracked up to be.

Isaac arrived not long after, processing the seating arrangements and the unfamiliar scent with a half second of confusion followed by a shrug as he dropped onto the couch on the other side of Brett. But then, it was Isaac. He'd probably wake up to the apocalypse with a shrug and an 'I hope the pizza isn't all gone.' Brett's pleasure at finding himself sandwiched between two of his packmates instead of in his usual solitary seat was palpable. A half smile summoned itself to Scott's face unbidden. It almost made waiting for the anvil to drop bearable.

Then the anvil dropped.

"Hello, my children." Peter's voice rang out from on high. The pack turned as one to where he slowly made his way down the staircase from the upper levels. Say what you will about their alpha's megalomania, delusions of grandeur, sadism, psychotic tendencies, and general overall murder fetish - the bastard always did know how to make an entrance.

"It's good to see you're all rested and recovered from last night's festivities." He gave them all an indulgent smile, ever managing to portray the doting paternal figure, even when his claws were dripping with their blood. His eyes fell upon Brett, sitting between Scott and Isaac, and if anything his smile seemed to grow wider. Scott tensed, but his personal bogeyman said nothing about it as he circled the couch and traced a finger along Isaac's arm. "Isaac, is your arm still troubling you?"

"Nope, all good," Isaac said. His arm visibly twitched with the effort it took to keep from snatching it away from Peter, but he knew better.

"I'm glad to hear it. I was worried," Peter said. His finger traced its way along the back of the couch and settled on Scott's neck, elongating and hardening and sharpening until it was a claw that could gouge through steel, delicately sketching spirals that never quite broke the skin. Scott fought a losing battle against his heartbeat, struggling to reign it in. Sweat beaded his brow, but like Isaac, he knew better to jerk away.

"I was especially worried about you, Scott," he said softly. The claw pressed slightly harder. "When you didn't come back with the others, I was afraid something had happened. I almost sent the twins out in search of you."

"My apologies, Alpha. I didn't mean to cause any alarm. I lost my phone and I had to get home or my mom was going to call the Sheriff."

Across the room Cora leaned forward slightly in her seat, eyes bright and shining. Shit - he'd told her it died. If she spoke up now it wouldn't matter that he'd lied, it would matter that he lied and no one in the room was picking it up from his scent or heartbeat. That wasn't a revelation Peter would ever overlook. Hating himself for it, Scott poured every silent entreaty he could into his own eyes, begging her for silence. Her jaw tensed fractionally, but after a pregnant pause she smirked and sat back. There was no breath of relief for Scott to disguise - he could only imagine what Cora would ask for in return for that little favor.

"Well we can't have that," Peter continued. If he had any awareness of the little byplay that had just passed between the two of them, he gave no outward sign. "I trust we'll be more responsible in the future, so this doesn't happen again?"

"Of course, Alpha," Scott said obediently, not that any other answer would have been acceptable. Anything to move this along and on to something else, as far away from the truth as possible. The truth that Scott had run after the fight, as far and fast as he could, until he puked his guts out. That he couldn't be anywhere near Peter last night, there was no way he could have hidden what he'd done then. That he'd actually saved a hunter's life - not just any hunter, but an Argent - Peter would have smelled it on him somehow. Known that he was hiding something and pressed until he wormed the truth out of Scott and he had every excuse he'd ever needed to just rip Scott's throat out right there and then.

"Good, good," the older man murmured, his claw finally leaving Scott's skin as though almost reluctant. "Still, all in all, I'm very pleased. You all did very well last night."

"We didn't kill any of them," Cora said, somewhat petulantly. Her scent roiled and shifted, hungry, angry.

"You were never meant to," Peter said. "Don't worry, darling, we'll all have our fill of hunter's blood by the time this is done. Last night was merely the first skirmish in a very long war, one that predates us all, but one I intend to see finished. Quite definitively."

He circled back around the couch, standing in the midst of the room and commanding it like his personal spotlight. He wouldn't be Peter without his damn theatrics, after all.

"However, last night made it abundantly clear the hunters have no shortage of numbers to draw upon. I have no doubts that any one of you are worth ten of them," Peter simpered. Scott could practically feel Theo rolling his eyes next to him. "Still, it wouldn't do for us to be outmatched there when there's no reason we have to be. To that end, I've decided its time to start…recruiting again."

Scott closed his eyes wearily. There never really had been a chance that new scent had meant anything different, had there?

"Matthew, come down and join us, please," Peter called into the silence that followed his pronouncement. Scott looked up to see one of their classmates, Matt Daehler, descend the stairs and come to heel at Peter's side, looking for all the world like an eager puppy as he looked around the room at them all.

Peter on the other hand, was looking directly at Scott. A small, sly smile upon his lips. Scott didn't know how, but he knew then that no matter how much of a surprise Brett's actions had been to the pack, they'd never been a revelation to their Alpha. Scott didn't even have to glance over at Cora to know she was eyeing the new werewolf with hungry anticipation. He didn't know Matt well, of course, but it didn't take much to know that the secretive, perpetually angry-smelling boy skewed much closer to Cora's view of the world than his own. The boy's brand of constant resentment lent him a particular scent that Scott probably would have recognized if it hadn't been muddled by the smell of a freshly turned wolf.

Peter could give a shit that Brett had chosen a side finally. He'd already handpicked a new supporter for Cora to balance things back out. One step ahead of everyone else as usual. It was like playing chess, knowing your opponent had invented the game.

"You'll all have plenty of time to get acquainted with your new packmate later," Peter said. "Matt, why don't you go sit over there by Cora and the twins? Now, Brett, what have you found for me?"

Scott felt the other beta jerk in surprise at his side, unused to being singled out in pack meetings.

"Umm," Brett said, hesitant and ducking his head after a quick glance at Scott. His scent was heavy with…shame? Scott's gut clenched anew.

"I asked Brett to seek out some more prospective new recruits," Peter explained to his curious pack. He waited for Brett to speak up, patient amusement plain on his face. "I've long suspected he has a natural eye for talent."

That barb was sufficient to puncture any pleasure Cora had taken at the reveal of their new pack-brother. She popped a claw and picked angrily at her teeth. Scott hadn't even realized you could pick at teeth angrily.

"There's a few freshmen who I think would probably take the bite well," Brett said. His need for reassurance was a tangible presence, but Scott couldn't help him here. He knew exactly what Peter was up to now, and nothing he could say or do would derail this train. "Uh, there's this one kid, Garrett, and his girlfriend, Violet I think? Or umm, maybe this girl Hayden? And there's this freshman who's supposed to be some lacrosse prodigy. Liam Dunbar, I'm pretty sure? Yeah, Dunbar."

"Well its always nice to have options," Peter mused thoughtfully. He tapped a finger against his chin. "Why don't we start with this lacrosse player, Liam. Make friends with him, take him under your wing. Gain his trust. There's no rush - as I said, the war to come could be a long one and we can't assume everyone will be as receptive to what we have to offer as young Matthew here was. A month should give you enough time to make him a bit more…amenable, surely?"

"Yes sir," Brett said, his unhappiness clear in his voice.

"Well, then. That's all I have for you all now, so I'll let you get back to whatever else it is you needed to do. It is a school night after all. Can't have you staying out too late," Peter said in mock reproof. He headed for the stairs, but as they all began to stand, he turned back as though something had just occurred to him. "Actually, first, Scott, could you come here for a moment?"

Scott swallowed and moved to stand before his alpha, aware of the attention focused on him. Theo and Isaac were tense as bowstrings, but he shook his head the barest fraction of an inch.

"I hate to have to do this, Scott, I really do," Peter sighed. "But you did disobey my orders last night, and who better than my first beta to teach our new packmate that there are consequences to such things?"

Peter's claws slashed through the air and etched deep furrows through the skin of Scott's chest. Even knowing what was coming, he couldn't completely bite back the snarl of pain that escaped through his clenched teeth, but he kept himself upright. The alpha's claws swiped back across and ripped a complementary set of gashes across the first cuts. This time Scott fell to one knee.

"I expect more from you Scott," the alpha murmured in a mockery of true disappointment. He wiped his claws clean on the tatters of Scott's shirt before letting them morph back into harmless human fingers.

"Forgive me, Alpha," he gritted out. "I'll try harder to live up to my full potential."

Peter smiled beatifically and spread his arms wide as he ascended backwards up the stairs. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."

Isaac and Theo each grabbed Scott under one arm, helping him to his feet. He could have managed it on his own - he'd had worse, certainly, but wounds from an alpha were never something to sneeze at. It'd be at least a full day before these healed. He caught a glimpse of Matt over in the corner by Cora and the twins. The new werewolf's eyes were bright gold and hungry. Whatever he'd taken away from Peter's little display, it wasn't intimidation.

"Don't just stand there, Brett, give them a hand," Peter threw over his shoulder as a final parting shot before disappearing upstairs. The youngest beta startled with a jump and rushed to lend another supporting arm around Scott's waist, not that there was much room with Isaac and Theo already there. Scott sighed. They really needed to give the kid some lessons in politics and nuance. Though to be fair, it wasn't like he'd been much better himself before Derek took pity on him.

Between the three of them, Isaac, Theo and Brett managed to get him downstairs and out back to his motorcycle without too much trouble.

"You can't drive like that," Theo said, examining the wounds with a sympathetic wince. "Here, I'll give you a lift home and we can get your bike tomorrow."

"No, Isaac can drive me home on my bike," Scott said. "Stick around until Matt leaves. I want you to follow him and see how he celebrates his newfound wild side. Pretty sure he's going to be trouble."

Isaac snorted. "I give it a week tops before he's batting for Team Blue Eyes."

"Anything in particular you think I should be looking out for?"

Scott shook his head. "No, I just have a feeling about him. Peter's never turned someone who actually wants the bite before. Choosing now to switch up his MO feels…"

"Ominous?" Isaac suggested helpfully.

"Destined to end badly for us?" Theo suggested equally helpfully.

"Danger Will Robinson, Danger?" Brett piped up. He wilted under the other three boys' matching looks of confusion. "You know, like from that show…its a Lost in Space reference."

Isaac studied him as though examining an alien life form. "I don't get you."

"Enough," Scott sighed. His chest hurt way too much to deal with a Three Stooges routine right now. "Brett, go home. Isaac, you're driving. Theo, keep an eye on Matt. Stay in your wolf form, I doubt anybody's thought to tell him about your particular gift yet."

"Okay, but…Scott…if he does do something, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to step in?"

Theo's real question: if Matt decided to hurt someone, should he stop him and incur the wrath of Peter for following orders that he didn't give himself? Or do the smart thing, stay hidden and just let it play out?

"Whatever you want me to do," Theo added hurriedly. "I mean, its your call."

"Do what you have to if it comes to that," Scott said. He was tired of doing the smart thing, especially when it seems even at his smartest Peter managed to outmaneuver him anyway. He just wanted to DO something for a change. "If we have to, we'll play it off as you chancing across him and keeping him from attracting unnecessary attention with hunters in town."

Not that any of them believed for a second Peter would buy that, but what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? He was using that expression correctly, he was pretty sure…maybe it was the blood loss.

"What do you want me to do?" Brett asked as Theo headed off to his car. He'd move it a couple miles and then circle back as a wolf.

"I told you," Scott tried to smile at the kid. It came out more of a grimace snarl fusion. "Just go home for now."

"I can help," the younger boy insisted, almost painfully earnest. "I want to help."

"And you will," he assured him. _Soon as I figure out a way for you to do it without getting yourself killed._ "But for now, you need to just do what Peter asked. Isaac and I will figure out the rest."

"Are you-," Brett paused and looked around furtively. "Are you going to let him turn Liam?"

He really didn't know what to do with the idea that this kid actually thought he had the power to stop that. He offered the only response he could think of.

"I'll do what I have to."

That seemed to mean something very different to Brett than it had to Scott, because the younger boy looked positively relieved as he made his goodbyes and headed off into the night. Isaac shook his head as they watched him disappear into the shadows.

"Good kid," he said. "Dumb as fuck, but good."

"Take it easy on him," Scott chided his friend as he settled behind him on the back of his motorcycle. "His heart's in the right place."

"I know, that's why I complimented him! He's at a 65% approval rating currently. Did you not hear the compliment?"

He didn't bother responding over the rush of wind that came when Isaac eased the bike out onto the street and took off with zero consideration for either speed limits or the wounded state of his passenger. And he wondered why Scott didn't let him drive more.

The drab gray walls of the industrial district blurred by in an unending stretch of sameness. The air streaming past his face was a heady mix of metallic scents, copper and iron and steel. The town was silent and empty as they raced through it, just the quiet roar of the wind over the faint background melodies of crickets, television sets and the occasional barking dog. It was barely 10 pm.

Scott made it all of three minutes before he dug his fingers into Isaac's sides.

"Pull over," he shouted hoarsely, not that he needed to raise his voice for the other werewolf to hear him. Isaac pulled the bike to a stop on the shoulder of a two lane highway stretching through the woods and Scott staggered off it, one hand clutching his chest, other hand a mess of claws digging into the bark of a nearby tree. Then both of his hands were claws, and he was slashing through the tree trunk, ripping deep gouges into the wood, clawing and slashing and panting and Isaac's hand was on his shoulder, his voice was yelling his name in his ear but he shrugged it off, kept slashing and cutting and hurting and goddammit fuck everything fuck Peter fucking Peter just…fuck.

He slid to the ground, back against the tree trunk and head back so he could see the stars. It'd always bothered him that stars didn't look any different to his werewolf eyes than they had to his human ones. They should look different. Everything else did after all. But they were no sharper, no clearer, no brighter…they were just too far away for a little thing like supernatural senses to make any difference at all.

Scott hated looking at the stars. It made him feel human. He missed being human. He couldn't fucking stop looking at the stars.

He felt more than saw when Isaac slid to the ground next to him.

"Peter's a piece of work," the other boy said after it was clear Scott had no intention of speaking. "Making Brett basically pick someone for him to turn. That's a hell of a thing to live with."

Scott laughed a quiet little laugh that wasn't exactly a sob but definitely wasn't funny at all. "You know, don't you? What he - what I did?"

Isaac was silent.

"He told you, didn't he? That I'm the reason you're a werewolf - I picked you for him to turn."

"He might have mentioned something like that," Isaac allowed. "Back when it first started to look like I was paying a little too much attention to what you said and too little to what he did. But y'know, its Peter. He could say the sky is blue and it would still somehow manage to be a lie. I kinda figured there was something more to it."

Scott shrugged and tracked an overhead plane, picking at the grass with his claws. "There's really not."

"Indulge me."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Indulge? Been using word of the day toilet paper or something?"

"Fuck you, man. You ruined my life, now you're criticizing my language choices?"

Scott laughed, a surprisingly genuine one this time. That shouldn't be funny, but trust Isaac to turn tragedy and despair into a comedy routine. A dark and morbid one, sure, but you worked with what you got, he supposed.

"He was going to turn Stiles. It was right after he'd turned me…he gave me a choice. He could turn my best friend, or I could come up with a suitable replacement and he'd leave Stiles alone."

Isaac nodded, eyes gold in the darkness. "Why me?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Scott sighed. "I think…I think I convinced myself I was doing you a favor. I figured out what your dad was doing to you, I could see the bruises and smell how afraid you were around him and put two and two together…I dunno. I guess I just told myself if you could heal like I could, at least that'd be better than where you were at already?"

"Well you weren't wrong about that," Isaac shrugged. "I mean, if we weren't getting shot or stabbed or clawed up all the time, the healing part would actually be a nice perk."

"I didn't know what Peter was going to do though, I swear. If I had known.."

"If you had known he was going to sit us down and make us watch him rip my dad into pieces, you would have what? Let him turn Stiles instead and watch him kill the Sheriff? Bullshit," Isaac snorted. Scott clenched his jaw and looked away. There wasn't much he could say to that.

"Whatever, man," his friend finally sighed. "My dad was a dick anyway. How fucked up is it that its been how long and I still can't decide if I'm actually pissed Peter killed him? I mean, the whole watching it happen thing I really could have done without, but I dunno. Sometimes I feel like I'm mostly just pissed that I didn't get to do it myself."

Scott really didn't know what to say to that.

"Look, I know I can't ask you to ever forgive me -."

"Oh my god, shut up you loser. I already told you, Peter told me this shit years ago. Obviously I forgave you a long time ago. I still feel totally justified in hating Stilinski though."

"It wasn't Stiles' fault either though," he pointed out. Isaac sketched disbelief with a single brow.

"So? I like you, so I forgave you. I hate Stilinski, so I hold him fully fucking responsible. I'm not a rational person Scott, that's pretty well established. God, keep up already."

"You shouldn't forgive me," he said bitterly. "Everything that's happened to you since then is my fault."

Isaac flipped him off. "Fuck you, I'll forgive you if I want to fucking forgive you, you're not the boss of me. Look. I'm going to say this once, and then we're never going to talk about this shit ever again, because seriously, fuck feelings. It wasn't your fault. Peter used you the same way he uses all of us, because he's a dick and because he can. Now he's doing the same thing to Brett, so only question is, are you going to do something stupid about it that we'll both end up regretting?"

Scott smirked despite himself. "That's the plan."

"Figured. You know why he's doing this though, right?"

"Yup."

"I mean, that whole month deadline thing? What a crock. Like Peter's ever needed more than a day to ruin some kid's life or more than a night to bludgeon them into accepting their new lot in life as his bitch."

"Bludgeon? Really?"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm pontificating here."

"Pontificating? Who are you right now?"

"Scott," Isaac sobered and looked at him gravely. "He wants you to try and interfere. He's pushing you into challenging him when he knows you can't win."

"I know."

"He wouldn't be bothering if he didn't think there was at least some chance you could challenge him and win. He's scared of you."

"That part I'm not so sure about that."

"I'm serious. He knows he can't just kill you, it'd basically be like admitting he was afraid of you. If Ennis or Kali or one of the other alphas got a whiff of that, he'd be fucked. He's trying to get you to make a move before you're ready."

"He won't."

"He won't," Isaac repeated skeptically. "But we're not gonna let him turn this Liam kid, right?"

"Nope. I have a plan."

"A plan."

"An approximation of a plan, more like."

"An approximation of a plan."

"I have an idea with plan like qualities."

"We're all going to die horribly, aren't we?"

"Probably."

Isaac sighed and shrugged. "Oh well. Always knew I was too pretty to die of old age. Does this plan at least involve me getting to beat the shit out of one of the twins before I go down swinging?"

"Possibly."

"Cool. I'm in."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

The Vikings said that someday, a wolf will swallow the moon and the sun.  
Best learn now how to hunt in the dark.

Allison spent the morning of her second day of school doing her homework.

Not the class-mandated kind, unfortunately. It may have only been halfway through the first semester, but she was pretty sure the Good Ship Education had sailed for the year when she was still twenty miles outside the county border. Excuse her for having different priorities when there was a pack of teenage werewolves sharing her Chem Lab. A pack that even now her family and friends of family were diligently scouring the woods for, without a clue that their prey stalked the hallowed halls of teen academia by day - rather than the wild outdoors.

Because Allison still hadn't told her parents about them, about Scott McCall. And she had no idea why.

At least that was what she was trying to pretend, but it was becoming harder and harder every minute she observed the pack. From the day her father revealed the truth about werewolves to her, using a feral omega locked up in the basement as proof, he had ingrained one essential truth into her training.

Werewolves might not all be evil, like her grandfather insisted. They might not all be dumb animals, like Aunt Kate claimed. They might not all be (by strictest definition) bloodthirsty monsters as her mother believed. But they were all dangerous. Slaves to the murderous call of the moon, victims of their own instincts. Sooner or later, they would all eventually succumb to the siren lure of the hunt and claim an innocent life. The Argent code dictated they let them live until that fateful day, sparing their lives as long as possible as a kindness. But the end result was always inevitable.

And these wolves had already killed, if the murders that had drawn her family here were any indication.

According to all her training, all their traditions, to everything her family had ever stood for, she should have told her father what happened the other night the second he got back to the cars. She should have come clean to her parents the moment she discovered a whole pack of wolves sat across from her in the cafeteria yesterday. It was easy, simple, obvious, the proper course of action was encoded into the fiber of her bones.

Except.

Except for Scott fucking McCall.

He had knocked her off her feet in defense of his pack-mate, Isaac. He had her at his mercy. He didn't have to do anything at all but watch her fall off the cliff and he'd have been free of any threat she could offer him or his pack. A teenage werewolf, someone who logically should have less control than the adults she'd been witness to in previous training sessions - shouldn't he be even more likely to succumb to his instincts and turn such obvious prey into a corpse? But not only had he resisted any such instincts, he'd acted in deliberate defiance of them, choosing to take unnecessary steps to save her life. Like the exact opposite of a monster. Of an animal.

Even with glowing eyes and bloodied claws, he had acted like a person who knew exactly what he was doing.

And Allison really did not know what to do with that.

Nor did she know what to make of any of the pack, once she fought down her initial reactions to their presence and observed them. They all kept to themselves, but even among their own little group, you could see occasional scuffles. Tempers flaring, barbed jokes flung about, but never a hint of a claw, a fang or even the briefest flash of inhuman eyes. Each and every one of them displayed a level of control she'd been taught to believe they simply didn't possess.

And as long as they displayed that impossible control, Allison was finding it incredibly difficult to see reporting them to her parents as anything other than turning teenage kids over to her grandfather to be slaughtered.

And yes, she resented the hell out of them for it. Was it really so much to ask that just one of them pop a claw in the middle of a crowded hallway so she could be done with this fucking moral quandary and feel secure in doing her duty? She'd signed up for the protection of humanity shtick, not philosophical debates on where the line between creature and humanity should be drawn.

Okay, not that she actually wanted one of them to hurt someone at school, let's not get carried away, but - ugh. See what havoc they were already wrecking on her priorities? Seriously, what fresh hell was this?

She hated every last one of them.

So it was with a glower (across a crowded cafeteria from them, once again), that she resumed her homework, annotating the notes she'd sketched out in front of her in her own personal shorthand. If she couldn't feel justified in reporting them to her parents - _yet_ \- she was at least obligated to arm herself with as much information on them as she could in the meanwhile, right?

Luckily, the Beacon Hills High rumor mill found the pack as fascinating as she did.

First of course was the source of all her inner turmoil and confusion, her personal bane and nemesis, the far too innocent appearing Scott fucking McCall. As near as she could tell from the gossip she'd assembled, once upon a time he'd been an unremarkable loner most students couldn't even pick out of a crowd. His one and only friend had been Stiles Stilinski, and they were pretty much a package deal by all accounts. The phrases 'Siamese twins' and 'joined at the hip' had come up more than once.

And then suddenly, all that changed the summer before freshman year. He'd become withdrawn and moody, frequently disappearing and reappearing a full day later without any explanation. His single mother, who'd once boasted of her practically perfect son, was at a loss to explain constant behavioral problems to his teachers when school resumed, and the Sheriff reportedly had to be called to find him and bring him home on more than one occasion. Grounding apparently had little effect as he'd just find a way out anyway, and it was universally accepted that the only reason he hadn't been shipped off to military school was his mother couldn't afford it. Last year, he'd disappeared for a whole week. Only texting now and then to keep his mom from calling the FBI in search of him - though it seemed that little excursion had led to his FBI agent father permanently moving back to town in an effort to help corral his son. (Again with little to no effect.)

And then there was the 'Break Up'. Considering how far beneath the radar the two-some of Scott and Stiles had flown before high school, it wasn't surprising that the incident that put them both on the map was significant enough to merit audible air quotes whenever it was referenced. What was surprising, to Allison at least, was that it had occurred two weeks into the start of freshman year, nowhere near a full moon. Some enterprising fuckwad had managed to record the whole thing on his cell phone and upload it to Youtube (her money was on Jackson). She'd forced herself to watch the whole thing. The way Scott just erupted on his best friend in the middle of a crowded hallway, the ugly sneer on his face as he listed off each and every dirty little secret his best friend had confided him over the years. The mingled laughter and looks of pity on bystanders' faces as Stiles had run off to the bathroom, face buried in his sleeve. And finally, as the camera panned back across to the source of all the drama, the split second of regret and sorrow that flickered across Scott's face, as though it was his own heart that had just been ripped out instead of his words that had done the ripping. She didn't quite know yet to make of that look, of that fight, but it hadn't simply been the out of control raging of a newly turned werewolf. Yet again, he seemed to have known exactly what he was doing.

It was less than a week later that Isaac Lahey's dad was killed by a wild animal in his own backyard.

The system was efficient in shuttling the newly orphaned Isaac into a foster home, and he was back at school three days after the funeral. Previously a loner, he was mobbed by would be well wishers offering shoulders to cry on while fishing for all the gory details - all high schoolers were monsters, Allison reflected - but he seemed uninterested in any company other than that of one Scott McCall. Despite having virtually no previous interaction with him, Lahey had gravitated right to the side of the newly minted social pariah, and from that point on they'd been inseparable. Similar behavioral issues and disappearances like Scott's led to Isaac being shuttled from one foster home to the next, and somewhere along the line he'd simply slipped through the cracks. She couldn't find anyone who seemed to have any clue where he was living these days.

It was in mid-November that the duo were joined by Erica Reyes, a formerly epileptic school punchline who overnight seemed to transform into a perfectly healthy, perfectly vicious high school predator. Vernon Boyd had joined their lunch table two weeks later. A quiet boy whose peaceful nature was said to be inversely proportional to his size, literally the only noteworthy thing she could find about him was the mysterious disappearance of his little sister when he was twelve. She was eight. The authorities had never found a trace of Alicia Boyd, and it was now considered a cold case.

Mysterious disappearances weren't uncommon to Beacon Hills though. In January of freshman year, a local by the name of Henry Tate was found torn apart by wild animals. Two months later, his daughter Malia, missing since the car crash that had killed her mother and sister when she was eight, resurfaced with no explanation for where she'd been all that time. She was shoved into the foster system and enrolled in remedial courses to catch her up to speed, but just like Isaac, there was no record of where she was living currently.

Nobody seemed to know much of anything at all about the twins, other than the fact that they'd instantly been embraced by McCall and his gang the day they showed up to school. It was like they were all old friends. Theo Raeken moved back to town not long after. Shockingly, tragedy lurked in his past as well, with an older sister who'd died when he was eight, prompting his family's temporary relocation.

And then, at the start of sophomore year, Cora Hale had returned to Beacon Hills.

For a split second, Allison had wondered if maybe there were no adults in the Beacon Hills pack, and Hale was the alpha. Her family's alpha power had to go somewhere after the rest of her pack was killed. True, the others all had to have been turned freshman year and even sooner, but there was no reason she couldn't have lurked out of sight all that time before making her return to the public eye. Many of the others did seem to defer to her, but then she noticed that just as many seemed to defer to Scott. And she'd seen McCall's eyes. If he was no alpha, there was no way Hale was the alpha either with him holding as much pull over the others as she seemed to.

Allison jotted a note in her margins anyway. Hale might not be the alpha, but she might not be the only survivor of the fire either. Something to look into…

"Okay either your handwriting's worse than mine, or that's not English," Stiles said, plopping into the seat next to her at the lunch table. He crunched noisily into an apple, and little chunks sprayed everywhere.

"Ancient Greek," she said casually, adding a little doodle to the top of the page for good measure. She bit her lip to hide back the laugh bubbling up at the wide-eyed look on his face.

"Seriously?"

"That's ancient Greek like I'm ancient Egyptian, Stiles," Lydia sighed as she slid into the seat on the other side of Allison. Where Stiles was all frenetic energy and chaotic motion, she somehow managed to make the mundane act of seating herself look elegant and perfectly choreographed.

"Well I'm sorry if I'm not fluent in what ancient Greek looks like." Stiles had a way of conveying exasperation with every inch of his body - a process that almost knocked Danny's tray out of his hands when he and Jackson joined the table. "Wait, how do you know what ancient Greek looks like?"

"I don't," Lydia said primly. "I just know what a girl's secret code looks like. We all had diaries and nosy mothers, after all."

"What are we talking about?" Danny asked.

"Allison's writing in code," Stiles said. "I think she's a spy."

"Oh really?" Allison drawled, giving the boy her full amused attention. She'd found it hard to relate to most of her peers ever since the whole werewolf reveal by her parents. At first, Lydia had really just seemed like an easy pipeline for the kind of intel Allison was looking for. She hadn't expected to sense a kindred spirit in the other onion-layered girl. She certainly hadn't expected to enjoy her entourage's presence as much as she was. Well, Stiles and Danny at any rate. Jackson still seemed to be an acquired taste.

"Really." Stiles confirmed. He leaned forward in challenge. "How do you like your martinis? Shaken not stirred, I bet?"

"007? Cliche, Stilinski. I expect better from you," Danny said. "That deserved a Man from U.N.C.L.E. reference at least."

"Can't go wrong with a classic."

"I can't believe I'm friends with any of you," Jackson said. It was hard to tell if he was more disgusted by the mystery meat on his fork or the banter at his table.

Allison watched the back and forth with a small smile, more relaxed than she'd been since she first came to town. It was so normal, so carefree that she could almost picture herself actually being friends with these people if she didn't have the priorities she did. Real friends, the kind who could actually confide and be confided in, share secrets, talk hopes and dreams. Give them her utmost attention, rather than being distracted by an unexpected eleventh addition to the pack's distant lunch table.

"Who's that?" She asked, tilting her head towards the brown haired boy sitting between Cora and one of the twins. The other four followed her gaze with looks of bemusement that gradually morphed into confusion, Stiles' a shade sharper than the others'.

"That's Matt Daehler," Danny said, brow furrowed. "Since when does he hang out with them?"

"He's not part of their usual group?" Allison prodded. She'd assumed that her research so far had been thorough enough to pick out all potential pack members at the school, but if she'd missed one, could she have missed others?

"Matt? God no," Lydia said, her eyes narrowed as though intent on solving a particularly vexing equation. "He's not exactly a social butterfly, but he still has a few too many friends to get drawn into that particular black hole of isolationism. Or at least, I thought he did."

Jackson snorted dismissively. "Daehler's wallpaper. He has acquaintances, not friends. So they finally decided he's enough of a loser to warrant an invitation to Loser Central. Who cares?"

"That's not how they work," Stiles said. He was still focused on the table with hawk-like intensity. Across the room, Scott's head seemed to jerk slightly, as though it made to turn in their direction before he willfully corrected its trajectory.

"There's a 'way they work'?" Allison asked. Stiles nodded.

"They don't just randomly invite new people into their little club," he said darkly. "Either you joined up when they all started hanging out in freshman year, or else you're a new kid who they somehow snatch up before anyone else has even introduced themselves. Matt's been in the same class as them since middle school. Why is he all of a sudden hanging out with them now?"

"Again I ask, who the fuck cares?" Jackson exhaled. "What's the matter, Stilinski? You're not jealous cuz McCall still doesn't think you're cool enough to be part of his little gang, are you?"

"Fuck off, Jackson," Stiles snapped. "I'm just saying its weird. And now that I think about it, Brett's been hanging out with some of the freshmen. I haven't seen him have a conversation with anyone outside of their little clique since he moved here last year."

"God, you guys make it sound like they're some kind of gang," Allison laughed with what she hoped was just the right touch of wide-eyed intrigue. "Maybe they're recruiting or something."

The second Stiles' head snapped away from the table to pin his narrow-eyed stare on her, she knew she'd miscalculated. The others might think Stiles had moved on from his one time friendship after the fight freshman year, but she could recognize a cold case being reopened when she saw it. Too late she remembered that Stiles was the son of the local Sheriff. And this, she realized, was a mystery he'd never quite given up solving.

"Maybe," was all he said.

"Next person to say anything about those freaks can go sit with them if they're so obsessed," Jackson said. "Moving on. Are we going to Greenberg's party this weekend or Billick's?"

"Billick's, obviously," Lydia said. And just like that, the other table was forgotten.

Allison let it drop and eased back into the flow of casual conversation. Still, she couldn't help but notice that each of her new friends cast more than a couple glances towards the pack over the course of lunch, and that included Jackson. When they all broke to head their separate ways at the end of the lunch hour, Stiles lingered while Allison disposed of her tray.

"So, Double Oh Allison," he said. "Why are you so curious about them anyway?"

"Them, who?"

"I think you know exactly who I'm talking about," he said, crossing his arms. Allison shrugged and batted her eyes as innocently as she could manage without hurling. Some things _so_ weren't her forte.

"I really don't, Stiles. You're kinda weirding me out here."

"Yeah, sorry," he said. He backed off, still eyeing her appraisingly. Before she had a chance to make it out of the cafeteria, he managed to get off one last parting shot. "You know the thing about spies?"

"What's that?"

"They only tend to be interested in things that are worth spying on," Stiles said. Allison smiled.

"Interesting's such a subjective word, don't you think? Look, I gotta run, see you later, Stiles."

"Yeah, later," he echoed after her as she shouldered her way through the cafeteria's mass exodus. She headed straight for the Science wing, too distracted to run by her locker and grab the right text for it. Her parents were still looking for adult werewolves, and they had no idea the pack was adding new wolves right under their noses. Didn't she have a responsibility to them? Whatever her misgivings about how human the wolves she'd met may seem, her family was still her family, and if withholding this was going to get one of them hurt -

Two things happened in the span of the next five seconds that would later leave her deeply embarrassed.

First, she was totally oblivious to the presence behind her until it grabbed her by the shoulder, wrapped a hand around her mouth and dragged her into a supply closet.

Second, even with the hand over her mouth, she was sure the stupid werewolf could hear her muffled shriek.

At least she recovered quickly. It only took another five seconds for her to reach into the backpack she'd left slightly unzipped for just such an occasion and withdraw a loaded mini crossbow she then aimed at his chest. Scott fucking McCall just stood there with his arms held out at his sides and his face placidly innocent.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, way more calmly than he had any right to with a crossbow poking into his chest hard enough to make him wince. "I just couldn't risk anyone seeing or hearing us come in here together."

"I'm pretty good at sneaking around myself," Allison hissed, furious at the implication. He'd startled her, not scared her. Startling was a completely legitimate response to a werewolf dragging you into a supply closet. "You could have just asked."

He raised an eyebrow and had the gall to look amused, god damn him. "Would you have really come if I had?"

"Hell no," she said. "I'm not as crazy as you apparently are. I could have killed you with a stunt like that."

"Doubtful," he said. His lips quirked up into a grin. She hesitated, absorbing that in the same breath he used to snatch her weapon out of her hand and back up against the door. "Besides, if you wanted me dead, I'd already be dead."

Allison pursed her lips and counted to ten to calm her heartbeat. "Obviously that's not entirely true," she said at last. It grated her to admit, but the evidence kinda spoke for itself. She could be gracious. Sometimes.

"Yeah, it kinda is." His dark eyes bored into hers. "Why haven't you told your family about me yet?"

"How do you know I haven't?" She countered. He smirked at her. _Bastard_. But she conceded the point. They both knew perfectly well that if she had, she'd be safe at home, and he'd be dead or in chains. Rather than focus on how that last stray thought rattled the breath in her lungs, she defaulted to her usual strategy of the best defense being a good offense. "Fine. Better question is why didn't you let me fall that night?"

She was not about to call it 'saving her'. There were degrees of graciousness.

His amusement was wiped away as swiftly as if his face were an Etch-a-Sketch she'd just shaken the hell out of.

"I don't kill people just because I'm told to," was all he said.

Allison wasn't sure if that was meant to be a barb at her. She flinched anyway.

"Let's put a pin in that one for now. Why the cloak and dagger routine, then? Just checking to make sure I wasn't going to rat you out?"

"I need your help."

"Jesus. You really are crazy," she said once she got her mouth to close properly. "You get how this works, right? Me, hunter, you werewolf? Why on earth would you think I'd help you with anything?"

"Because I'm desperate enough to hope that you're not like other hunters. And there's no one else to ask."

She pressed her palms against her temples and twirled in the supply closet in a slow, soothing spiral. This was not how her day was supposed to go. How her week was supposed to go - this whole move to Beacon Hills was utterly and completely fucked. This… _kid_ …had no fucking decency whatsoever. She was just getting used to the first derailment he'd thrown her way the other night, and now he sucker-punched her yet again. What the hell? No, seriously. What. The. Hell.

"Okay. So now that we've officially established that you are in fact crazy, what exactly are you hoping that I - again, a hunter - can do to help you - again, a werewolf." She breathed through her nose. It didn't really help that much.

"I heard you asking about Matt. You know he's…new."

"Yeah, I'm quick like that."

"It's not going to end with just him. Pe - my alpha…he's planning to turn other kids. I need your help to stop it."

She stared at him. "And why would you want to stop him? Doesn't more wolves make you all a stronger pack?"

He laughed bitterly and eased himself on to a crate, clutching his chest. There was no way she'd poked him that hard with her bow, was there?

"Do you think I wanted to be this way? That any of us did? Look, I don't know what you think you know about us, or what you've been told, but none of us asked for this. But it happened, and now we're stuck, and I'm just trying to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else."

She nodded, processing that. To be perfectly honest, she'd never really stopped to consider the _how_ of him getting the bite. It was easy to see how an alpha werewolf could have convinced a young, teenage outsider that the bite would solve all his problems. But it was also easy to see how an alpha werewolf could have just bitten a young teenage outsider without giving a shit what he wanted. And her moral quandaries were back with a vengeance. Awesome.

"What's wrong with your chest?"

He blinked up at her, confused. "Huh?"

"Your chest," Allison prodded. "You're holding it like you're hurt, and I know I didn't poke you that hard. I thought your kind didn't get lasting injuries. Isn't super healing one of your nifty little perks?"

He grunted sourly. "You obviously don't know as much about us as you think."

"Then show me," she challenged.

"What?"

"Your chest, show me what's wrong." She sighed when he continued to balk. "I want to see what you're hiding, and you're going to show me or I'm going to walk right out of here and this conversation is over."

His turn to purse his lips. "Fine," he bit out, a challenge smoldering in his eyes. "But you know, if you wanted to get my shirt off, you could have just asked."

Fire leaped to her cheeks, but she was still finding a retort when his shirt came off. The sight of the deep gouges crisscrossing his chest left it seeming a bit petty.

Those definitely hadn't come from a hunter's weapon.

Allison knelt, reaching forward with a hand to trace along the ridges of one cut, only half aware of what she was doing. He bristled visibly, clearly fighting the urge to rear away from her before stilling himself with a sigh. His chest felt like a furnace where she touched the edge of the gashes. _Werewolves run hot_ , she vaguely remembered her father saying once.

"What happened?"

He took a deep breath but held himself motionless as her hand ran of its own volition along the length of the wounds. "I disobeyed my alpha. I was punished."

She jerked her head up. "Was it because you saved me?"

"God no." He barked out a laugh, sharp and savage and bitter. "If he had any clue about that, I'd be dead already."

She looked away. His response had been too quick, too knee-jerk to be any attempt at deception or a play for sympathy. He fully believed what he was saying. Unbidden, his previous words echoed in her ears.

 _None of us wanted this, but it happened, and we're stuck now._

"Why hasn't it healed yet?"

He shrugged. "Wounds from an alpha take longer to heal. Wouldn't be much of a punishment otherwise."

She stared at the gashes, thinking. "You want him dead as much as we do, don't you?"

He said nothing.

"If you told me who he is, we could kill him," she coaxed.

His lips bent out of shape in a macabre approximation of a smile, rigor-mortis stiff.

"If you could promise the rest of my pack wouldn't end up collateral damage, I'd let you."

There was no point in replying to that. They both knew she'd never have that kind of power.

Instead she dug around her backpack for her emergency medical kit, settling back on her heels as she pulled out a needle and thread. He eyed her warily.

"What's that for?"

"You. Hush and let me concentrate."

"We covered the whole werewolf thing, right?" He cocked an eyebrow. "I'll heal on my own. Human medicine not required."

"I know that," she said calmly. "I also know that the principle of stitches is that the less space between the skin at both edges of a wound, the less time it takes to heal. I'm assuming similar principles apply with you, or do you all just throw physics completely out the window?"

"Uh yeah, we pretty much do." He waggled both eyebrows now, bizarrely mischievous. "We're y'know, _magic_."

"Oh my god, just shut up and let me help," Allison huffed. "Unless you're afraid of needles?"

He clamped up and she knew right away that she'd accidentally run headfirst into something he'd rather let her poke him full of holes than talk about, and to be honest, that was perfectly fine with her. She was so not qualified to deal with his issues. Whatever the hell that was all about, she didn't want to know. Nope, seriously, could not care less.

She broke the skin a little more harshly than was probably necessary, judging by his startled hiss of breath. He was a big bad werewolf, he could suck it up. She was not about to apologize for helping him.

"Whatever. I'm guessing you've had worse," she said when guilt prompted her to fill the silence anyway.

"You have a terrible bedside manner," he told her. She grunted an acknowledgment and focused on the sutures. She preferred shooting things.

"Suppose, just for a second, that your particular brand of crazy was contagious, and I was willing to help you. What exactly are you looking for here?"

"I was hoping you could run interference. Pe - my alpha has picked out some freshmen he wants…courted. He's not planning to turn the first one until the month is up though. If you could find a way to, I dunno, get a little sway over them, just stick around them, it might make him think its not worth the risk to try and turn someone a hunter's befriended. He'll have to start over with someone new. It at least buys some time."

"That's it? That's your big plan?" She jerked the needle across a little too hard and he snapped.

"Hey, I mentioned the desperate part, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Allison grumbled. Still. It was better than nothing, and a month at least gave her some time to see how far she was willing to push this conflict of interest she was rapidly developing. If this mysterious alpha was willing to wait that long to add more wolves to his pack, he probably wasn't planning any immediate attacks. Which meant her family was still relatively safe in the meanwhile. "So who are these freshmen?"

"Violet something. Garrett. Corey. Mason Hewitt, Hayden Romero," he rattled off. "The first one he plans to turn is Liam Dunbar."

She narrowed her eyes. "So basically, everyone your little pack-mate Brett has been hanging around with."

He narrowed his eyes right back at her. "I told him to go along with it for now. He's just trying to stay alive. You don't get to judge him until you've lived what we've lived."

She finished her sutures and yanked the needle free. "You know, you're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Oh I'm sorry," he shot back. "Are monsters not allowed to have convictions?"

"Whatever," she snapped, shoving her kit back in her backpack. "Look I'll see what I can come up with, and we'll play it your way for now. If it keeps some innocent kids from getting caught up in all of this, it's worth it. But just because I'm keeping my mouth shut, doesn't mean you're off the hook. I find out you hurt or kill anybody, I swear to god I will take you out myself. Are we clear?"

Something that looked an awful lot like rage surfaced in his eyes and he surged to his feet, sending her scuttling back in a half crouch as he did. "No," he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Excuse me?" She hissed back, her face gone glacial.

"You heard me." He glared as she rose to her full height, neither giving an inch. "Work with me or don't, but whatever head games you need to play to convince yourself you're the good guy in all of this, don't play them with me. I'm not going to hurt anyone because that's not who I am, because I _choose_ not to. You don't get to pretend that your threats and your weapons have anything to do with it, like I'm some dog that needs you to keep him on a leash so he'll behave."

"Okay, you know what, enough." She snatched her crossbow off the floor because she _chose_ to and rose on the balls of her feet. She could play the _invade the personal space_ game too. "It sounds like you've gotten a pretty raw deal here and I sympathize, I do. But we're not the bad guys either. There's a reason families like mine exist. You walk around with claws that can shred through steel and no one else has a fucking clue or a damn thing they could do if you decide to go rampaging through the cafeteria."

"Yeah, you're right," he said, supremely unimpressed. He nodded down at the crossbow at her side. "But you know, there may not be any laws about us because most people don't know we exist, but I'm pretty sure they have laws about the kind of weapon you're carrying in a crowded school. And let's not pretend that you couldn't do plenty of damage if you decided to go rampaging through the halls with that little toy. Like maybe if you thought one of your classmates was a dangerous werewolf or I dunno, maybe you just _snapped_ and lost _control_."

He leaned in til their foreheads were practically touching, dripping venom with every word.

"Difference is, you get to make a choice to go around being a hidden potential danger to people around you. But because I don't get a say in whether or not I have claws, I'm the threat that needs to be watched? And you're justified because what? Because you know things you've chosen not to tell anyone else?"

"I'm willing to concede there are exceptions to the rules," she ground out, but he bit off her retort before she could finish.

"How generous of you," he growled. "Wait, whose rules are those again? Yours? Your mother's, your grandfather's? Face it, _hunter_ , you're not some righteous force for good, you're not some divinely appointed order of protection. You're a girl whose daddy taught her to shoot a gun and then told her who to aim it at. All the werewolves your family's killed who deserved it doesn't make up for all the ones they've killed who didn't. There's as much innocent blood on your hands as there is on any of ours!"

"My family has a code," she snapped.

He laughed in her face.

"Tell that to the Hales."

And that knocked the wind right out of her sails, because she had her own suspicions about what really happened with the Hale fire, didn't she? She wanted to argue, she wanted to contest it, but again, he rattled it off so easily, with such ready conviction…she couldn't claim to know more about it than he did. And if what he was suggesting was true…

"We serve a purpose," Allison said at last, but it was quieter, subdued. "We protect humans."

His shoulders drooped as the fight visibly drained out of him, and he shook his head, equally weary as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I was human once. Where were you then?"

There really wasn't anything left to say after that.

She settled for picking up her things off the floor and securing her backpack over her shoulder. He watched her for a beat, then snatched his shirt off the crate and pulled it back on.

"You're not what I expected," Allison blurted out as he reached for the doorknob. She chipped off a hesitant smile, the best she could manage. "I'll give you that much."

He nodded, accepting the peace offering for what it was. "Well, my abuela used to call me her little _pinata_." A small grin of his own flickered to life. "Just full of surprises."

And with that he left Allison alone in the supply closet, helplessly sputtering in confused indignation. The last fucking thing she needed right now was the mental image of an adorable pre-werewolf Scott McCall whose abuela called him her little _pinata_. No, seriously, what the hell was she supposed to do with that?

She stormed out of the supply closet in classic high dudgeon, barely noticing where Stiles and Danny leaned against the lockers, watching her stalk off with twin expressions of confusion. Okay, so she might have very complicated and mixed thoughts and feelings about the existence of teenage werewolves in general right now, but there was one thing she was perfectly, one hundred percent clear on.

She hated Scott fucking McCall.

A deal was a deal though, and innocent lives were at stake, so she did her homework. (Again, not the school mandated kind). She strategized, she planned, she surveyed every angle because she was not some naive little foot soldier who couldn't think for herself, no matter what some arrogant, holier than thou werewolf SHITHEAD thought of her. She absolutely was not about to let some psycho alpha get his claws into an entire new crop of freshmen victims, and because she had _foresight_ , and actually _thought_ about such things, she was going to make sure none of his pack could definitively say she was running interference or trace the leak back to Scott. Bet he hadn't even thought about that part, had he? Hah. Stupid werewolf. With his stupid chest and his stupid brown eyes.

His tattoo was stupid too. Two circles? What the hell even was that? _Ugh_.

Three days later, she arrived at school armed with fistfuls of brochures, pamphlets and college info packets. She stalked through the library to the back corner where no one was supposed to know Lydia Martin did her homework for a college math class no one was supposed to know she took.

And yes, Allison had picked up on Lydia's ridiculously lofty IQ and aspirations within ten minutes of meeting her because she was a trained and observant hunter, not a complete _idiot_ , thanks very much.

However, she let none of the near-permanent state of vexation she currently suffered from leak through to her face as she dropped into the chair across the table from Lydia, feigning exhaustion. Her armful of literature cascaded across its surface in an imposing waterfall of pending collegiate doom. Allison would have felt bad about the quick look of panic Lydia bore at one of her friends seeing her so unmasked, but well, Allison was in a _mood_ , so she chose to enjoy it instead. She was kind of a bitch herself sometimes, she reflected with brutal honesty. Its why she and Lydia were going to have a long and enduring friendship.

"Oh my god, I am so glad you're here," she chirped brightly. Lydia quickly touched up the chinks in her social armor and arched a single, frosty eyebrow. "I am having the shittiest morning, you seriously have no idea."

"Oh? What's wrong?"

Nice sleight of hand there, maneuvering her textbook's cover to just the right angle so it was illegible, Allison absently admired. Well done.

"Ugh, my parents have been riding my case about college all week, and its driving me up the fricking wall. I barely escaped the breakfast table with my sanity intact."

Lydia's backup eyebrow joined the first in total confusion. "Its barely halfway through the first semester of junior year. Isn't it a little early to be obsessing about college?"

"That's what I said," Allison vented, throwing up her arms. The librarian looked up from her shelving cart and shushed her. _Oh, shut up and gimme my Oscar_. "You'd think it was enough that I have a 3.83 GPA despite moving every single year. But no, everyone has good grades nowadays Allison, you'll never get in anywhere if you don't have the right extracurriculars, Allison."

She leaned forward and buried her head in her arms on the table, face hidden enough to allow herself the tiniest of grins when Lydia took the bait.

"Oh?"

A single syllable, but packed full of wariness. After all, Allison had done her homework. And if there was one area where Lydia Martin was lacking, it was her extracurriculars.

"Right? And I was like, hello, I've only done gymnastics since I was four, and archery since I was eight, you'd think that would count for something right? But no, apparently, since not all colleges offer those, not all colleges are willing to consider them with the same weight they consider organized school sports."

There was a slight possibility that last part was pure bullshit. It'd been a long night, and Allison had to sleep sometime. But it didn't matter. Because Lydia Martin did not play any sports, period.

She picked up the nearest brochure and flipped through it to give Lydia time to sweat over the appearance of an obstacle she hadn't properly anticipated.

"You could always run for student government," Lydia mused, tapping her pencil against her chin.

Allison ran that idea off the road quick.

"Oh right, because that'll do wonders for my social standing. Bad enough I'm the new girl transferring two months into junior year. Now I've got to run around in the spotlight, begging for votes and drawing all kinds of potentially embarrassing attention to myself? I'm trying to fit in here, Lyds, not stand out."

Oops, that one slipped right under the armor there, didn't it? Someday, Allison was going to make sure to apologize for this with a lot of ice cream, even if the other girl had no idea what it was for.

"Well then obviously the chess club or the debate team are out too," Lydia observed acidly. Allison laughed.

"God, could you even imagine?"

Lydia just offered a sharp, brittle, dangerous smile. Time to supply the parachute.

"The school doesn't have any kind of Big Brother/Big Sister mentor program, does it?" Allison asked as though almost an afterthought.

"No, nothing like that."

"Ugh, dammit. That would be perfect."

"Hmm," Lydia mused. She studied a pamphlet in front of her thoughtfully. "Well you could always start one, I suppose. That would probably win you a lot of points."

"Right," Allison rolled her eyes, gesturing at the mess littering the table. "Because my keen organizational skills. That's what I should be resting all my future hopes and dreams on."

"True, true," Lydia said. Then she sighed, plastered on an expression that screamed selfless martyrdom, and studied her nails. "I guess I could help you. I mean, I organize parties all the time. It can't be that much harder, can it?"

"Oh my god, are you serious? You would literally be a life saver," Allison gushed. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. Okay, I suppose the first thing we need to do is find a faculty sponsor, there's probably some forms we need to fill out…"

Allison leaned in and nodded with wide-eyed attention as Lydia sketched out a list of priorities. By the end of free period, she had her own list of tasks entrusted to her by the other girl, but there'd be no problem carrying those out. After all, when the program was rolled out to the rest of the school, it would be abundantly clear to anyone and everyone that this was all Lydia Martin's enterprise, and Allison? Why she was simply the Queen's eagerly obedient little minion.

And if Queen Lydia's occasional lingering stare hinted that she had her own suspicions as to which of them had truly set this in motion, well that was alright with Allison. It was just further proof that they truly were meant to be best friends. She had nothing but appreciation for someone who was smart enough to know when she was being played yet still willing to let it all play out anyway.

A week later when Lydia led Allison and the much less compliant trio of Jackson, Danny and Stiles across the quad to where a group of freshmen sat in desperate need of their mentoring, Allison didn't even have it in her to enjoy the confused panic evident in Brett Talbot's hasty departure.

For some reason, she found herself drawn instead to the very blinding and very _human_ smile a certain idiot werewolf radiated at her in gratitude from the steps of the Language Arts building.

And as the bottom dropped out of her stomach, forcing her to confront the very real and very dangerous possibility that she did not, in fact, hate Scott fucking McCall, not even a little bit, Allison Argent, scion of the oldest hunting dynasty in France, sucked in a terrified breath.

"Oh, this is going to be a problem."


End file.
